


By The Brush

by lulebell



Category: RPF - Fandom
Genre: F/F, Femslash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-11
Updated: 2011-02-11
Packaged: 2017-10-15 13:50:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/161455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lulebell/pseuds/lulebell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rivals settling/<br/>their differences by the brush/<br/>in sex and poems</p>
            </blockquote>





	By The Brush

**Author's Note:**

> For the 2011 Porn Battle. Prompts are: rivalry, exquisite, ink, ephemeral, ashes  
> Thank you to the OP who asked for this prompt!

Light crept across an early morning spring, quietly dissipating the dew. Despite the early hour, Lady Murasaki was all ready annoyed. Sitting at her writing desk by an open window that over looked the immaculately kept garden, she clutched the token, an old cracked ink brush, in her hand tightly and read the note:

 _People who leave their  
ink left out in the sun will  
be gone by morning_

She recognized the hand immediately: it was that of Sei Shonagon, her rival. The attached token was included only to annoy her further. The old cracked ink brush was the worst in the poet's collection but it still absorbed ink easily. Just thinking about the poet brought her close to expiring, but in her best hand, Murasaki managed to reply:

 _By morning, nothing is left  
But the sight of this old brush_

She sent her runner off immediately.

"I shall keep this memento of the dear lady," Murasaki said to the other women in the room. She set her rival's worst ink brush down on her desk and opened her journal. "With it, I shall record the day."

//

Sei didn't frequent this side of the palace often, but upon the hour of the dog, she made her way down the darkened hallways to the rooms occupied by the ladies in waiting.

The silk curtains were hung with careful precision and the people behind them made dancing shadows against the walls. Sei made sideways glances at them before a familiar voice asked her:

"Why, Sei Shonagon, do you lurk about the shadows, peeping through curtains like they were common fence posts?"

She stepped into the room and found the Lady Murasaki sitting at her writing desk with her back towards the curtain. She approached Murasaki swiftly, grasping her with both hands by her shoulders, pulling her up and turning her around. The delicate robe strings were tied into elegant bows and with one swift pull, Sei unknotted the first bow and the robe fell open.

She opened the silk robes with expertise, letting layer after layer plummet to the floor, until only her uncut hair covered her body. Sei roped Murasaki’s hair around her fingers, using the locks to pull Murasaki close to her. Sei’s breath was warm and fleeting on Murasaki’s face, fading like the cherry blossoms in the spring air. Murasaki sucked in a deep breath and tipped her chin up.

“Is this how the writer of the great _Genji_ reacts to a woman’s touch?”

“With so many partners, how can one tell what a true touch should feel like?”

“Now, now don’t be jealous. You mustn’t let that angry passion consume you.”

Sei placed her hand on the side of Murasaki’s face gently and guided her down to the floor. “You mustn’t fight me,” she continued when Murasaki proved difficult to relax. Sei’s scent was that of fresh petals and Murasaki found it so engaging that she was soon overwhelmed with it and the sensations that Sei left on her body; she let her self gently to the floor.

Sei wrapped her arms around Murasaki and hugged her hard, pressing herself against the other woman that left Murasaki writhing with passion. She coaxed Murasaki’s head to turn and Sei gently pressed her lips against Murasaki’s. The caresses were growing faster and stronger and she was about to cry out when Sei again kissed Murasaki deeply on the mouth, so that she wouldn’t cry out and held her tightly as she shuddered atop her silk robes.

//

Murasaki awoke alone, sometime before dawn; the pillow was damp from her lonely weeping. She sat up and pulled on her under robe before she moved to her writing desk; strong perfume followed Murasaki, like a ghost from a long past, all but forgotten night. With old cracked ink brush in hand, she composed:

 _waning dreams of you  
almost gone, but for your scent  
like incense ashes _

She attached her favourite hairpin and a single cherry blossom that blew in the room from off the tress. She sent it off before anyone else had the chance to wake.


End file.
